


Entanglements and Entrapments

by mantisbelle



Category: RWBY
Genre: Arthur Watts Being A Dick, Canon Universe, Canonical Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mind Games, Obsession, Past Relationship(s), Post-Volume 7 (RWBY), Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25630846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mantisbelle/pseuds/mantisbelle
Summary: The first time that Qrow ever saw Arthur Watts in person, he quickly realized that James Ironwood, Headmaster General of Atlas and lifelong all-around workaholic had a type.
Relationships: Past James Ironwood/Arthur Watts, Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood, Tyrian Callows/Arthur Watts, Tyrian Callows/Qrow Branwen (One-sided)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 70





	Entanglements and Entrapments

The first time that Qrow ever saw Arthur Watts in person, he quickly realized that James Ironwood, Headmaster General of Atlas and lifelong all-around workaholic had a _type._

Qrow didn’t know the all of the details— James hadn’t exactly been willing to expand upon his romantic history much, if at all. From what Qrow could gather there was a collection of sore spots that James just never wanted to visit. Old crushes and failed relationships, and everything that James had been able to refer to as a love life had more or less died all at once. Qrow knew that James had made the decision to simply go without for a long time. Qrow had changed that, eventually.

But even still there was _one_ detail that Qrow had managed to get out of James about his old love life.

What he’d gotten was little more than a name (Arthur Watts) and a vague timeline (a few years ago, James had never been exact.) 

From what Qrow could tell, Arthur Watts was the only man that James had _ever_ invited into his bed aside from himself following his injuries. Possibly the only man to have been intimate with James both before and after the injures. And even then, James was tight lipped and uptight about the matter. 

In the end, Qrow had learned a lot more about Watts by looking him up than he ever did directly from James.

Qrow knew that spending time mourning the guy had a lot to do with it. Losing that person that he’d spent so many years building and working with, all of that _trust_ and everything that had come with it. 

He’d never been offended. He’d never allowed himself to be offended or put off by James’ disinterest in sharing. James had always been extremely closed off when it came to his personal life. No matter how hard Qrow tried to shake the details loose, James never budged.

But damn if Qrow didn’t take one look at Watts and realize that James not only had a _type_ , but that he himself slotted all too nicely right into it. 

Would have been nice if he’d been given some sort of heads up about it. But it was a little too late for that, Qrow figured.

Instead, he was seeing Watts in person only because he’d been tossed into a cell alongside the man because _apparently_ empty beds in Atlas’ main prison were at a premium with all of the arrests that had been going on over the course of the last several months. Why not throw two of the most dangerous people into one cell and just monitor it doubly close compared to the run of the middle rioters and rabblerousers? That made sense.

Both of them probably belonged in solitary confinement, if Qrow was being honest. Not that he’d done anything wrong, not really. It had been all Tyrian, but damn if the guilt hadn’t settled quickly and deeply.

Watts glared at him as Qrow took a seat on one of the two beds, carefully choosing the one on the opposite side from where Watts was sitting. Qrow rolled his eyes and decided to at least _try_ to make himself comfortable. If he was going to be stuck in a cell for who knows how long, he might as well have tried to be comfortable. Never mind that the cells in Atlas were specifically designed to be as uncomfortable as possible.

The doctor eyed him for a moment too long, in a way that Qrow couldn’t help but find clinical before he turned his gaze back towards the window that he was seated behind so that he could watch whatever was happening outside. 

Qrow had a feeling that Watts knew. Tyrian had mentioned that he was running late for Salem’s arrival. Watts had probably been meant to be there too, but James had locked him up before he’d gotten a chance to get away. 

Wouldn’t long before Salem decided she wanted all of her operatives on hand. 

Qrow didn’t want _anything_ to do with Watts. Not when being around the guy made his skin crawl and Qrow was already trying to deal with what had happened with Tyrian and Clover earlier that evening. Watts would probably _applaud_ if he heard the whole thing, the way that Tyrian had just gotten into his head the way that he had. 

How could he have been so _stupid_ to let that happen? Why hadn’t he and Clover teamed up to deal with Tyrian? 

What the hell had Clover been thinking? 

What had _he_ been thinking?

Apparently satisfied with whatever he’d been watching just outside the window, Watts stood up and began to walk to his own bed, removing his coat in the process to lie it down on top of the thin mattress. He was still dressed as a true Atlesian though. Clothes that bordered along being business formal, ties and sweater vests and high collars that hid the throat. 

Just like James would have worn, down to the absurd number of layers.

 _Exactly_ like James. 

But Watts was simply loosening his tie, at least slightly. Probably sick of waiting around for something to happen. 

Maybe even waiting for one of Salem’s other lackeys to come busting him out. Or maybe a grimm. 

Everything that came to mind were things that Qrow would file safely away at the top of his _‘shit he wasn’t prepared to deal with’_ list. Harbinger had been taken in as evidence, for starters. 

Aside from that, Qrow didn’t know that he wanted to fight anymore to begin with. Not after Tyrian. Not after Clover. How could he ever pick up Harbinger again with full knowledge of the blood that had covered the blade and how he’d helped put it there.

Without thinking about it, Qrow pressed his hand to where the dark, thin line of a scar that Tyrian had left him was. To think that the bastard had tied them together like that, leaving a mark that Qrow knew would never heal properly. 

“Let me guess—” Watts began to ask as he laid his tie down on top of his coat in a way that Qrow had seen James do a hundred times over. “James finally went ahead and declared martial law?”

Qrow glared at Watts. “I figured you’d know that by now.” He growled.

“Soundproofed cells.” Watts replied with the barest wave of his hand. “Part of my own design some years ago. I’m sure you’ll find them just as unpleasant as the original intent was soon enough.” He stood up tall, glancing back at Qrow over his shoulder with the brightest green eyes that Qrow had ever seen. “I also can’t help but notice your failure to deny the declaring of martial law.” 

_Dammit._

Qrow rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he did it. Happy?”

“Good.” Watts replied. “All according to plan.” 

And just like that Qrow was set off. “According to plan?” He growled out. “People are dying in the streets.” 

“Yes. James was always so _predictable._ ” Watts replied. “And if people dying hadn’t been part of Her Grace’s intent, she wouldn’t have sent Tyrian.” He glanced back at Qrow. “I’m certain that you’re aware that some men simply have a _gift_ for violence. I even heard that he left you with a gift of your own upon your last meeting.” 

All at once, Qrow could only think of the badge that had been in his pocket before it had been taken as evidence. The scar under his shirt.

Every time he closed his eyes, Clover was the only thing that he could see. He’d seen a lot of people die over the course of his life— came with the territory of being a bandit, and then a Huntsman after that. There was a special brutality to what Tyrian had done to Clover though. Something that even bandit life couldn’t match.

And he’d _helped_ Tyrian do it.

Qrow rolled his eyes. “He tell you that?”

“He enjoys talking.” Watts replied. “And as I pride myself on having excellent bedside manner, I was inclined to listen.” He turned just slightly to give Qrow a proper look over. “You and the girl left him with a gift of your own though, I suppose.” 

All at once, it clicked together that Tyrian’s stinger being replaced had to come from _somewhere_. 

An advanced, customized prosthetic put together for a close associate of Arthur Watts. 

Probably not the first one either, Qrow realized all at once. 

Suddenly he had an idea of how James and Watts had first started to associate. Or at least an idea of where the two of them had gotten _close_ , or whatever had been going on between the two of them. Unprofessional at _best._ Downright unethical no matter how you looked at it.

Qrow frowned. “He deserved it. Wish it’d happen to him again. Bastard deserves to be killed.” 

“Don’t we all?” Watts asked, and for just a moment Qrow was under the impression that he was _smirking_ . Like he’d figured out that Tyrian had involvement in his jailing, and that their conflict had become _very_ personal.

Qrow turned away from Watts, curling into the bunk and turning to face towards the wall instead of at the doctor. Behind him, Watts went about his business of making himself comfortable before he settled down onto the bed. 

They managed to sit there for several minutes before Watts spoke again. 

“I’m sure that James will be _delighted_ to see this arrangement.” Watts continued, and Qrow realized then that it was entirely likely that he liked the sound of his own voice more than anything else. Sure as hell would fit the profile, kind of like Jacques Schnee. Fucking Atlesians. “All of his failed partnerships in one place.” 

Watts was trying to get under his skin. It was so obvious what was happening— it was prodding and poking and attacking with the hopes that Qrow would rise to the insults. Maybe he was even looking for Qrow to start a fight so that the guards would come down to try and shut the two of them up. 

It occurred to Qrow belatedly, that Watts was attempting to plan an escape.

But in that moment, it hadn’t quite hit yet. 

“I don’t know which one of us Jimmy will be more pissed off to see.” Qrow said honestly. He’d gotten himself involved in some shit that he really shouldn’t have, sure. But Watts was there trying to tear down Atlas on purpose as opposed to Qrow who had—

Well.

He knew what he’d done. 

But it hadn’t been meant to go the way that it had. Watts at least was there with the intent to do damage.

Watts smirked. “Yes, well, I’m sure that he won’t even bother to dignify either of us with visitations for some time.” He commented as he crossed one leg over the other. “Seeing as he has _much_ larger problems to contend with. What are you in for anyways, Branwen? I had been under the impression that you and our dear General were close. Close enough that you were warming his bed, at the least.” 

“Don’t.” Qrow growled back. “If you don’t want your face to look worse than it already does.”

Watts raised an eyebrow, still holding his head high as he sat straight-backed. “To think that you would bow so quickly to petty insults.” 

“You know that I’m a huntsman, right?” Qrow turned to face Watts, feeling a little like he was on fire and he wanted _nothing_ more than to go ahead and pummel the scientist with everything that he had. Maybe Watts would fall apart to a punch just as easily as Tyrian did.

Fucking Tyrian. 

Watts rolled his eyes. “You think that I can’t handle a Huntsman?” He asked. “You should have seen the state that James left our little battle in. Some bruising on my part doesn’t compare to how he left. I’m afraid he may not be able to keep his arm. Such a shame too, that he’d have to add more metal to that body of his. And to think that he won’t even have the most skilled craftsman at his side to do the job.” 

All at once, Qrow felt the ice that dripped down his spine as horrible realization settled over him. He hadn’t seen James since his arrest. James hadn’t even sent word down to where he was. James didn’t even seem to care that he was there, he was off living through whatever panic he was in and he was ignoring everything else. 

The kids were being hunted down. 

The winter maiden was going to be killed for the sake of her power. Hell, she was probably already dead and the power already handed off to Ironwood’s chosen.

Mantle would be lost in a culling as Ironwood took Atlas to turn and run with his tail between his legs. 

Qrow looked away from Watts, his hand covering his mouth so that he could hide his expression as best as he could. 

“Hm.” Watts hummed. “I thought so.”

“Shut up.” 

“I’d rather not.” Watts bit back, a little too nonchalantly. “Although I suppose it must hurt to know that your lover would have you jailed when he isn’t even in his right mind. Now what were you in for again? Treason? That certainly seems James' speed.”

Qrow grimaced and let his hand drop. “Murder.” 

Watts stared at him with an almost _bored_ expression. 

“Only murder? As in one?” Watts questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve certainly had worse roommates.” 

Roommate. 

Not cellmate. 

_Roommate._

The little bastard.

How could he be _bored_ by that? What the hell was wrong with Watts if _that_ was how he responded to the news that Qrow was in for a murder? Watts didn’t know that Qrow hadn’t—

That he’d—

That he’d helped Tyrian Callows in committing a murder. He was an accomplice.

“I’m guessing the roommate you’re talking about is Tyrian.” Qrow growled at Watts, and the man of course didn’t do so much as _flinch_ over it. He didn’t even care that Qrow had been involved in such a thing. How many people had Watts killed himself? How many had he aided Tyrian in killing? How many assured deaths had come at Watts’ hand, and only indirectly? 

That seemed to shake Watts’ composure though, even if it was only slightly. “Am I supposed to take that as him having gotten to you?” Watts asked. “He’d been meaning to go after Robyn Hill, that thorn of a woman. And to think he’d been so excited about the prospect of killing her. Should I assume that you intervened?” Watts eyed him. “If Robyn Hill had been killed, I’m sure we would have heard about it already.” 

Qrow swallowed hard. 

“So who did you kill, Branwen? If you stopped Tyrian from killing Hill.” 

“Shut up.” 

“So _rude._ ” Watts commented, the pot calling the kettle black. “You know, Tyrian is quite taken with you. I’m sure that he would have leaped at the opportunity for another fight with you.”

And gods, what the hell was that wording? _Taken with him_ . Watts made it sound like Tyrian, the little bastard, had a goddamn _crush_. 

But there was something else there. Some odd bitterness that Qrow couldn’t quite make out. Maybe that was just how Watts' personality was though— bitter and cold and all around awful. What the hell had James seen him, all those years before? 

“Yeah, well that asshole got the fight he wanted.” 

Watts looked up at him. “And I know for a fact that the blood on your shirt isn’t Tyrian’s. You’re painting quite the interesting picture, Branwen. I can almost even see the appeal.” 

Qrow glared back at Watts. “You want to know what happened? Your little _buddy_ got me to fight against one of my friends.” 

“Yes, he'll do that.” Watts commented, bored. “You know, beneath that insanity there's a cunning mind. I’d assume that you underestimated him, and he steered you straight into something you didn’t want to do. How far off the mark am I?”

Qrow shuddered. 

“There it is.” Watts said. “Such a pity. I was hoping that you’d done it yourself. That makes for a much more interesting story. Tyrian is a true craftsman, I suppose.” 

Qrow glared back at Watts. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

“Pass the time.” Watts replied. “I have an appointment which I’m assuming will be kept. And if your General wants to save this kingdom, he will have to remove me from this cell.” 

All at once, Qrow realized what it was. 

“You think he'd let you play liaison?”

“I know that he would.” Watts replied. “Seeing as he doesn’t have any other way to contact Her Grace directly. James has always been terribly pragmatic, you see. He’ll use the resources that are available to him if he wants for these cities to be able to live to see tomorrow.” 

“And then what?” Qrow asked. “What would the terms of surrender be?” He stared Watts directly in the eye, needing an answer out of the man for both of their sake. “If James were to come to you?”

“Is it not obvious?” Watts asked. “She wants the Relic, and the maiden, and whatever else that Ironwood could give her. His cooperation as he leads the kingdom in the way that _she_ needs to see it lead. I’m sure that Ironwood could handle being a puppet as long as it means he lives.” 

There it was, that ice sliding down Qrow’s spine again. “And then what happens to the rest of us?”

“For starters?” Watts asked. “Your little silver eyed niece would be hunted down. Tyrian’s always been type to trade eyes for eyes. The girl took his tail, so he'll take something just as deadly from her. Her Grace wants the girl dealt with anyhow. Not to mention Cinder’s got it out for her as well. So many enemies for such a child. She’ll be dealt with.” 

Qrow swallowed hard. 

“Just like the mother was dealt with.” 

Summer. 

The bastard was talking about Summer. 

“You—”

“Had nothing to do with it.” Watts cut Qrow off before he could get the accusation out. “But Her Grace shares such important information. You’ll find that Tyrian and Hazel are just as aware of the matter as I am. What's pitiful is that you didn’t know.”

Qrow needed a drink. He could feel his hands beginning to shake, his composure crumbling at the edges because Watts had just found a way to get himself _exactly_ what he wanted. How long had it been since his last drink? He’d left his flask with Yang so that he couldn’t get at it while he tried to sober up for the kids’ sakes.

He took a deep, less than steady breath as he tried to calm himself down. 

“I thought so.” Watts said. Off in the distance, Qrow could hear _something_ happening, but he wasn’t sure just what. It sounded like doors opening so he had to assume that they were either being visited, or that someone was being dropped off into one of the cells. Qrow hoped that it wasn’t any of the kids, or Maria, or anyone else. 

He didn’t know where _any_ of his charges had gotten off to. 

Footsteps drew closer and closer to the cell door, and when Qrow looked up at the tiny window at the top he wasn’t able to see who it was. 

And then the door opened, and James Ironwood stood there at the door, his broad form filling the space. 

Qrow’s eyes went directly to James’ arms. Watts had said that the arm would need to be taken, and—

And it was there, James’ one good arm, wrapped tightly in bandages that had clearly darkened and put into a splint and brace. 

But then Qrow looked up at James’ face and realized that the general was looking between the two men that had been put in the same cell. His expression was tight and guarded in a way that Qrow had only seen once or twice before. It was a forced calm that only came after James had found himself in a panic attack and in desperate need to regain his Atlesian appearance of composure.

“James.” Watts spoke first, his voice eerily cool. “So kind of you to visit.” 

“Jim, please—” Qrow stood up, stepping away from his bunk for a half-foot and almost immediately he had Due Process pointed straight at him with a hand that Qrow knew _never_ wavered. Without even a second of hesitation, it was there, pointed at him and Qrow had to wonder whether or not James would stop himself from shooting.

So Qrow put his hands up and lowered himself back down to the bunk.

This was not the man that he'd loved for years. 

This was someone else, and Qrow didn’t know how to feel about it. 

The James Ironwood that he’d known only seemed to be a shadow.

Ironwood didn’t look at him. He looked at Watts instead, his jaw set tight and expression serious. “Watts.” He said, voice that same commanding tone that Qrow had been hearing too much of lately. “We need to talk.” 

“I’m inclined to agree.” Watts replied, standing up from his bunk and stretching as he strode towards the door. “Should I assume it’s a negotiation or something more _personal?”_

Qrow immediately felt his blood starting to boil over what Watts was trying to imply. The bastard had already spent all night trying his damnedest to get under Qrow’s skin and now that James was there he was doubling down to make it worse. 

Knowing that there was a history there, and that James seemed to have a _type_ only made it worse. It made it so that Qrow couldn’t have possibly ignored what Watts was trying to suggest. He just hoped that James saw through it too. The only thing was that based on what Qrow _did_ know about how James’ evening had gone, he was far from having his full faculties anymore.

But James gave Qrow some hope as he simply leveled Watts with a disapproving look. “Classified.” Was the only answer that he growled out, and Qrow could almost feel some sort of smug satisfaction in knowing that James wasn’t about to give Watts what he wanted. “Now get up.” 

Due Process left its position pointed at Qrow to point at Watts instead, James’ hand still terrifyingly steady. 

Watts grumbled his disapproval, but got to his feet and approached James, who never wavered and never looked away. James placed the doctor in a gravity bolo that was almost identical to the ones that the Ace Ops had used. Qrow couldn’t exactly find it in him to be satisfied with it, if only because Watts insisted upon his unending smugness.

Maybe if Watts would have let that façade drop for a second or two, then Qrow would have been able to feel _something_ good out of everything that was happening. But instead he got nothing, he just got to watch as Watts was put into cuffs with his head held up high the entire damn time like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

In fact, he was acting like he was just getting _exactly_ what he’d wanted the entire damn time. 

“What about me?” Qrow asked, raising his voice just in the hopes that James would at least _look_ at him and give him something to know that his being there in the cell was acknowledged. He’d been acknowledged, sure, but it had only been as a _threat_ instead of anything else. 

That was probably the thing that hurt the most, Qrow thought. It was that James was carrying on as though he was an enemy and nothing else. Like those years that the two of them had spent trying to share a relationship over continents meant _nothing._ Like neither of them had spent the better part of two years worrying about the other.

James barely spared him a glance, only dragged Watts out of the room and locked the door behind them, which left Qrow to stew in his own thoughts. 

Hours upon hours ticked by without any sign that James would be returning Watts to his cell. 

In fact, Qrow was mostly just left there to rot. 

The only thing that altered him to the fact that he wasn’t just _alone_ in his cell was a scratching sound on the other side of the window, like something was rubbing up against it. If he hadn’t known better, Qrow would have assumed that it was a branch. But Atlas was without trees in the streets, and especially not as high up as Qrow’s cell was. 

That could only mean that he had company. 

Qrow pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the window. He pressed in close to it and saw the silvery glint of a _very_ familiar prosthesis.

No wonder that bastard Watts had been so smug. He’d been expecting to be broken out of his cell, by a partner that had a propensity for chaos and murder and flowery words but not much else. 

Tyrian’s face came into view, a wide manic smile stretched across it before he saw Qrow. That smile flattened out into nothing and then Tyrian was stretching and hauling himself up a bit higher, his stinger probably lodged into the building so that he could have another point of contact to suspend himself. 

Of course the asshole was there for Watts. Why wouldn’t he be there for Watts, if he wasn’t off with his precious Salem?

But Tyrian couldn’t have known that he and Watts shared a cell. Qrow was even willing to bet that he’d shimmied his away against every side of the building in an attempt to find Watts and had finally found the correct cell, but no Watts in sight. Or maybe he’d found Qrow and decided to take a detour just for fun.

But then again, Watts’ clothes were still laying on top of the second bed. Tyrian could surely recognize them at a glance.

Why the fuck should Qrow care though? When only hours before Tyrian had run Clover through with Harbinger?

But that flat expression that Tyrian wore didn’t last. It relaxed in odd ways, and then Tyrian was leaning in close to the glass that separated the cell from the outside world, finding purchase on some small ledge just outside. 

He rested, hunched awkwardly and with his limbs carefully slotted into tiny footholds like he’d been trained as an acrobat or climber at some point in his life. Tyrian’s face leaned in close to the glass, and then his hands were there beside it as he looked in on Qrow. One of his thumbs looked a little mangled, like it had been dislocated or broken and forced back into position.

As for Qrow, he wished that the glass wasn’t there so that he could just give Tyrian a push. He knew for a fact that the bastard’s aura was broken. All Tyrian had to do was land somewhere hard and then Qrow would have him out of his hair forever. 

But then Tyrian’s stinger was up against the glass too, hammering into it in a way that the metal replacement probably wasn’t meant to. It took tapping at first, and then Qrow watched as the thin stinger extended itself to its fullest length, almost like a curved needle. 

And then he saw the thin purple liquid that dripped from it, and the bright purple glow of Tyrian’s eyes as he began to draw a circle onto the glass. Qrow raised an eyebrow, but then realized what was happening as the liquid, Tyrian’s _venom_ began to eat away at the window.

Tyrian’s tongue stuck out slightly as he curved his stinger against the glass so that he could pull it free with a nicely-shaped hole left in the gap. 

Of course, Tyrian grinned when he saw Qrow. “How long it’s been since I saw you.” He said, almost sweetly as he climbed in through the opening. “Why, I was almost beginning to _miss_ you. After our last encounter went so well how could I have hoped for another rendezvous so soon?”

Tyrian leaned in close to Qrow, without leaving the hole in the window so that Qrow couldn’t get through it. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Qrow Branwen.”

“Shut the hell up.” Qrow growled back. Pushing Tyrian would be so easily, but it was obvious that he had more than enough purchase that he could probably catch himself. But then again, if Tyrian got out of the way then Qrow could have turned into a bird and made an escape. 

He could have gone off to the find the girls, or James, or _someone_ because he needed to know that he was still able to help even though the universe was falling apart at the seams around him. 

Tyrian frowned. “But I don’t _want_ _to._ ” He replied like a petulant child that had been told to get his hand out of the cookie jar. “After I’ve already done _so much_ for you?” 

“What are you even _talking about?”_ Qrow growled back. 

Tyrian blinked, and it was then that his eyes returned to their usual bright yellow shade. “I gave you the chance to escape the authorities, just the same as I. How _sad_ it is to find you in this place.” His expression almost softened, for a split second. “I can smell the good doctor and see his clothes. Where is he, Qrow Branwen?” 

“Why the hell do you think I’d tell you that?”

And yeah, that all but confirmed what Qrow had thought Watts meant when he’d mentioned roommates with large body counts. 

There was an edge of _something_ though, in the way that Tyrian talked about Watts. Possibly even an odd affection.

 _Good doctor,_ gods how could Qrow have misconstrued that as anything other than what it had to be? Watts had even been saying that Tyrian was _taken with him_ , and was he supposed to look at that like Watts was somehow jealous because of it? What the fuck did any of this mean, what the hell was Qrow meant to do with any of it?

What was he supposed to do with knowing that James had slept with Watts, who was likely sleeping with the same man that was turning into Qrow’s own nemesis? 

It all made him feel a little bit sick.

But Tyrian’s bright yellow eyes drifted upwards for a moment like he was in thought. “Well,” Tyrian started. “Because the good doctor is always so difficult. I would think that you telling me where he has flit off to would do you some good. Though I suppose we can’t all be little birds.” 

Behind Tyrian, Qrow saw the slow sway of the scorpion’s tail, the early morning light shining bright against the prosthesis that Watts had undoubtedly installed. 

Qrow grimaced. “You really think that I’d help you?” He asked. “After what you’ve done?”

“What I’ve done?” Tyrian asked, his eyes going wide in mock offense. Qrow could even imagine the man theatrically clutching at pearls that he would never wear. He didn’t even wear a proper shirt despite being on Solitas. “I can hardly imagine what you mean. I am but a humble servant seeking the aid of another servant. One does not keep the Queen waiting. She is a cruel mistress when she is upset.” 

Qrow thought that he saw just the barest tremble of Tyrian’s tail before it went forcedly stiff and dropped slightly behind the faunus. 

It took him a little longer than it should have to recognize it for what it was: _fear._ Pure fear, not awe or love towards Tyrian’s alleged god. He was deathly afraid of her, or perhaps intimately familiar with the sorts of punishments that she would dole out in return for failures. 

“Yeah, you seem real sure of that.” Qrow scoffed, knowing that it was better to keep his sharp edges with Tyrian there. He'd already been duped once that night and it wasn’t an experience that he ever wanted to have to repeat. Qrow already felt like he’d just see Clover every time he closed his eyes. He felt like he was never going to be able to completely wash the blood away from Harbinger, should he ever hold the blade again. No amount of showering would ever leave Qrow feeling _clean_ again. That much was impossible to hope for. “I’m not going to help you. You can disappoint Salem all you want.” 

_“Don’t say her name!_ ” Tyrian snapped out of nowhere, his eyes changing from their yellow hue to an angry shade of purple that Qrow had learned to associate with Tyrian being at his deadliest. _“You aren’t worthy._ ”

“Yeah, she's not my god.” Qrow replied. “Or my Queen. Doesn’t really matter what I call her.” 

“It _will._ ” Tyrian answered him, and for just a moment Qrow couldn’t help but think that Tyrian seemed almost… panicked, in a weird way. Defensive and angry on Salem’s behalf, but not in ways that Qrow could exactly consider to be normal. There was just enough off to confirm Qrow's suspicion.

Tyrian Callows, the only man in all of Remnant who likely served Salem with absolute loyalty, was also deathly terrified of the woman that he claimed to have devoted his soul and body to. 

But the scorpion pushed himself in close to Qrow, putting himself so close that the two of them were breathing the same air. “She _will_ be your Goddess, little bird. Your false leaders will not protect you forever. Time will always be on her side, Qrow Branwen. No true huntsmen will be able to stop her.” 

Tyrian’s hands came up to grasp onto Qrow’s arms and then Qrow was being dragged over to the window. The faunus’ hands kept a tight grip, his long, bony fingers clutching him so tightly that Qrow was certain he'd bruise, at least for a little while. 

“ _Look._ ” Tyrian cooed into his ear in what Qrow could only consider a mood swing. There was a softness that had been completely absent just seconds before. “Do you not see her coming?” Tyrian whispered into his ear. “Do you not see the beauty of what is to come upon these people? Arthur and I have worked _so hard_ to prepare them for her.” 

Qrow grit his teeth. “They’re all going to die.” 

“As they should.” Tyrian responded, that hardness back in his voice so quickly that Qrow nearly got whiplash. He couldn’t be sure that he was ever dealing with Tyrian’s true self, not even for a second. Qrow didn’t know a whole lot about the man that was quickly becoming his own personal nemesis. If he was being honest he wanted to know absolutely _nothing_ about how Tyrian’s mind worked.

But when the opportunity had arisen for him to look at Tyrian’s files for himself, he had gone ahead and done so. He’d been hoping to get some sort of answers so that he could make sense of how Tyrian acted and fought or _something._

What he’d gotten was a patchwork of a personal history that was more clearly delineated by criminal records than anything else. Almost as though aside from his crimes Tyrian hadn’t even existed in the first place. 

So what he got was a patchwork of a person. Someone that almost could have been considered an actor, or a dancer, or an acrobat. Someone that was _almost_ able to be considered a fool. 

Someone who knew how to be someone that he wasn’t for the sake of his own survival. 

Whoever Tyrian was, under all of that plating and anger and hate, Qrow didn’t know. 

But that was the man that he _needed_ to know if he was ever meant to take him down.

Qrow eyed Tyrian. “You don’t even care, do you?”

“Why should I?” Tyrian asked, his head cocking to the side and his dark braid swaying with the motion. “I have no concern with these kingdoms. Their people are only that.” 

“There are faunus like you.” 

“No.” Tyrian’s eyes flickered to bright purple, just for a split second. A tell if Qrow had ever seen one. “There are not. And even if they were, they would not matter. All that matters is that our divine saviour gets what she wants from these dirty cities.” His eyes were back to yellow, Tyrian’s hands clasping together in an almost excited manner. “She will be so _pleased_ with the good doctor and I.’ 

“You tell yourself that.” Qrow grumbled. “Because I’m pretty sure you aren’t the only ones here working for her.” 

“Perhaps not.” Tyrian answered, his hands lowering and separating. “But she requires the good doctor and I nonetheless. Now—” Tyrian’s tail raised up behind him, the sharp stinger pointing directly at Qrow in a clear threat. “Where has my dearest Arthur gone off to? I would be so upset to hear that he has left.” 

Under no circumstances whatsoever could Qrow mention that Watts had gone off with James. He was angry with James. He wanted to pummel the man into the ground. He wouldn’t throw him to the wolves like that, regardless of his anger. 

Qrow knew the way that the venom had hurt him when Tyrian had left him with what was more or less only a _scratch._ He didn’t want to have to imagine the amount of havoc that it would have on James’ body. James didn’t have the benefit of a complete, healthy form. James had his prosthetic parts and that included organs. 

Qrow still remembered the way that Tyrian’s venom had corroded the stone road when it had splattered onto it. If It could have anywhere near the same effect on James' body, Qrow needed to do what he could to prevent that from being allowed to happen. 

He was still angry. That wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t leave James to Tyrian, or have another Atlesian’s blood directly on his hands because of such actions. He still cared about James. He was angry, and upset, and didn’t know if there was any coming back from that but he still cared about James. He cared a lot. It was why he was so hurt.

Qrow was also thoroughly convinced that leaving anyone to Tyrian was a uniquely cruel death. The guy wouldn't hesitate to make sure that they hurt, to make sure that they had no will left to go on. 

"I'm not telling you anything." Qrow grumbled back at Tyrian, and he only got a little coo out of Tyrian that managed to border upon affectionate. His tail, covered with the silver prosthesis and armor as it was swayed forward into Qrow's space, the wicked curve of the stinger going straight under where Qrow's chin was to force Qrow to look up at him. 

It was almost something like flirting, or an act of attention seeking that Qrow could hardly ignore. "Why do you choose to make things so difficult, Qrow?" He asked, Tyrian's pitch dropping by quite a bit. "When I've already given you such a great gift?" 

"What the hell kind of gift was that supposed to be?" Qrow growled back at Tyrian, and that urge to punch the scorpion faunus in the face struck him. He wanted to do everything that he could to cave Tyrian's face in and make sure that he felt as much hurt as Qrow could possibly rain down upon him. He wanted for Tyrian to hurt, to hurt in the same way that Clover had. 

He wanted to see Tyrian run through with Harbinger, he wanted to see Tyrian choke on his own blood and bleed out in the snow. 

But then again, that wasn't what he wanted, was it? The sick fuck would probably enjoy that outcome too much, just as much as he'd enjoy knowing that he'd made Qrow give up his righteous path in the name of revenge and little else. At least Qrow could write it off as being part of the battle against Salem rather than pure revenge. 

But brothers knew how badly Qrow wanted to see Tyrian utterly destroyed.

Tyrian began to giggle, because of fucking course he did. He did it so quickly and so without any warning that it left Qrow thinking that there was some sort of joke that he'd never been given the punchline to. Or maybe he was the punchline and Tyrian had no care for letting him know that was the case. Honestly, neither of those would have been unlikely outcomes in Qrow's mind. 

God how he wanted to be able to cave the faunus' face in. But if he got too close then he could only think that Tyrian wouldn't hesitate to hurt him, to sting him and hit him with a larger dose of venom than he had the first time around. Qrow didn't want to put up with that, and he almost wondered whether or not Tyiran had already had enough of toying with him in battle for the night. Not that he was entirely sure that such a thing was even possible in the first place. Nothing would have really surprised Qrow. 

"Oh, Qrow." Tyrian said between his laughter, almost taking the moment to try and catch his breath. A thin finger raised up by Tyrian's cheek to wipe away a tear that had begun to bead there at the corner of his eye. "Oh Qrow Branwen, how you always amuse me. I've given you the greatest gift of all and you don't even want to let yourself see that is the case. How could you not understand it for what it is?" 

"The hell are you talking about?" Qrow asked. "You killed--"

"A killing?" Tyrian cackled. "Is that what you thought I meant? Oh no, no, no, that's not it. That's not it at all, Qrow Branwen. You're not thinking hard enough if that's what you think that I meant to give you. I've given you something that will only make you the most interesting prey I've had in a very long time." 

_Prey_. 

Of course Tyrian had to see him as prey. Of course it would have to be some sort of screwed up notion of existence that drove Tyrian's decision making. How could Qrow have ever let himself think that the faunus would act exclusively because of some sense of logic when that was so far from the reality?

"Then what is that?" Qrow asked. "If you're so interested in hunting me? Why not kill me now?"

"And ruin it before the meat has been sweetened?" Tyrian questioned. "Why, that would quite simply not do. The thing that makes you interesting to hunt is that you hate me, my dear Qrow Branwen. And I've given you the gift of making that hatred stronger." Tyrian's grin widened, his yellow eyes narrowing dangerously. The man's tail swayed behind him, almost carelessly. "Because now it's not just me hunting you, Qrow. You also want to hunt me and that is what makes this so fun." 

"And you killed Clover just for that?" Qrow growled back at Tyrian. "And went after Atlas--"

"Beecause my Goddess commanded it." Tyrian cut him off. "Which brings me back to the little problem which you are so annoyingly keeping me from solving. I need to know where the good doctor has gone. The queen is not one to tolerate such tardiness." 

"Go to hell." 

Tyrian blinked. "Well, that just won't do." He commented. "Now where is he?"

Qrow grit his teeth. He didn't want to send Tyrian after James. That was the absolute last thing that he wanted to have to do, but James had also so gladly thrown away two kingdoms that very same night and his bad orders had gotten Clover killed. James would have kind of deserved it, and Qrow knew for a fact that he would be able to defend himself if it came down to it. 

Or maybe he couldn't, considering just how rough of shape he was in after having fought Watts one on one. Maybe telling Tyrian where Watts had gone would be a death sentence for James after all. 

Or maybe James would fight and he wouldn't bother to pull his punches against the scorpion, and he'd solve Qrow's problems for him. 

Or, and this was probably the most likely thing, Tyrian and Watts would work together and make the escape that was already in progress in another way. Then Qrow and Ironwood would both be left up the creek without a paddle, neither of them willing to work with the other, while Tyrian and Watts made their ways back to Salem together so that they could do whatever weird bidding she demanded of them. 

"I'm getting impatient." Tyrian commented, like he had any sense of patience to begin with. The impression that Qrow got was that Tyrian was driven almost entirely by a mix of base instincts (and they weren't all normal human instincts, beyond the basics) and impulse. If he planned for things it was so mixed in with spontaneity that it almost didn't even matter. "You could just tell me where my dear doctor has gone off to. I would leave you to recover from such a stressful night and then you and I could fight on some other day. I don't see why you do not want to do that." 

"He's with Ironwood." Qrow finally grit out, just wanting for Tyrian to stop and leave him alone. "Now would you--"

"Such trouble." Tyrian said, standing up properly and stretching himself out. "Though I suppose her grace could be satisfied to hear it. So long as my Arthur survives, there will be nothing to be concerned with." And god, Qrow hated how Tyrian talked about Watts. It was way too familiar and in way too many ways for Qrow to ever hope to be really comfortable with any of it. And Tyrian was apparently just hellbent on making sure that Qrow got to hear all of it, probably because he'd figured out that it was a good way to get on Qrow's nerves."I suppose I must thank you, Qrow. Now I am able to report back to her grace and she will understand the doctor's absence, though she will not be pleased."

Tyrian's gaze drifted towards the door to the cell, and Qrow could see the gears turning in his head as he considered going out to try and get Watts himself. Tyrian could certainly try and he was definitely more than capable of ripping his way through hordes of Ironwood's robots. Qrow still didn't want to be part of the reason for Tyrian deciding to do that in the first place, because that would put a certain level of responsibility for the inevitable carnage on his shoulders. 

He wanted Tyrian gone. 

He wanted Watts gone. 

He wanted James back, but Qrow couldn't know whether getting the man that he'd known and considered a friend and often more back was even possible.

He wanted Salem to finally disappear and go away so that there would be no battle left to fight.

Tyrian slipped out of the window, and then he was gone. He gave Qrow only an adieu on his way out, just enough to make sure that Qrow was thoroughly upset. 

Qrow sat in that cell for hours. 

Watts never did return.

Ironwood did eventually, looking worse for the wear but very much alive.

If James knew that Qrow had sold him out, he sure as hell didn't bring it up. Not that it would matter much when their relationship was already destroyed at that point anyways. There wasn’t any coming back, not easily. Not so soon. Not with lives dangling on threads at James’ command.

**Author's Note:**

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